Hi Ann, This may not be quite your cup of tea, but it is well written,
imaginative, and original in subject.  I HOPE you will like it.  :) I did.
Steve
From: chariss256@aol.com (Chariss256)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Repost: CVDL "Debbie" (f/f, ex, dom)

   SHOWN

   by

   Charisse van der Lyn

   I don't know how I ever agreed to the challenge.  Arrogance, excitement,
the reward?  I don't know.  And who the hell was Steven to even suggest it,
an e-mail friend.  I had never met him, and wouldn't.  I could have ignored
his dare.  I could have lied and said I had done it.  But I didn't.  All I
had to do was to get on an elevator with a change of clothes; then on the
way up to the top floor I had to change outfits.

   It was surprisingly simple to set it up so that I could prove to Steven
that I had met his test.  I merely had to hand my camera, which date and
time stamped each picture, to someone in the lobby and ask that he take my
picture in front of the elevator.  And, I would do the same at the top
floor.

   Each outfit had to be skimpy enough that there would be no way I could
wear them both and simply slip one over the other.  I chose a red mini with
a zipper up the back and a translucent white blouse.  The photograph would
show my bare tits through the blouse, and he would have to take my word
that I was wearing matching red panties.  My second outfit was a short
brown, woolen skirt and matching jacket with a cream colored blouse that
could never hide my black bra.

   I picked the 101 Building, with 60 floors, and which has a nice
restaurant on the top, my reward.  I decided to go during the early evening
so that most of the offices--offices where no on knew me-- would be empty
and although someone could get on, it wasn't likely.

   By the time I had gotten everything together, I really didn't want to
go. I'm forty years old.  I'm attractive, but I'm not a twenty year old
girl who, if caught could say it was a sorority prank.  What could I say?
Nothing.  But, somehow I couldn't bring myself to back out.

   By the time I had parked my car my heart was racing, my hands were
sweating, and I was feeling excited.  I found the express elevators, at
least I could minimize the likelihood of someone getting until the top
floors.  A young man in a suit was looking at a paper.  I asked him if he
would take my picture, for a friend.  He did, but as I turned to get on the
elevator a couple got on with me.  I hit the button for the 48th floor, got
off.  My hands shook as I waited a few minutes before going back down, and
I could feel myself oozing with excitement.  God, how I wanted to take care
of it.

   But now, more than ever I knew I had to give it another go.

   I kept thinking of my age, and how crazy this was as I waited for
someone to take my picture again.  Looking at myself in the mirrored wall
opposite me, I could easily see my nipples pointing hard and red through
the fabric of my blouse.  "Slut," I jumped at my own loud, strangled voice.


   Two more times I got on the elevator, each time someone got on with me.
The second time I actually started to unbutton my blouse anyway, but the
other passenger was an older man, gray-haired, distinguished, and something
about him suggested that he'd call the police on me, rather than enjoy
seeing me strip.

   I was hot, frustrated and wondering if this weren't a big mistake I had
made when I heard someone talking to me.

   "Are you waiting for the elevator?" A woman's voice asked.

   I turned.  "Yes," I said to the woman.  She was younger, maybe late
twenties, attractive, dressed like a successful lawyer or executive, and
she was staring at my breasts, as she held the open elevator door for me.

   I started to get in, but remembered the photograph.

   "Here." I handed her my camera.  "Take a quick picture of me, please."

   She grinned, held the camera to her eyes, and clicked off a shot.  I
took it back from her as I walked into the elevator with her.  The door
closed and I knew the moment had come, in spite of her . . .  or perhaps
because of her?  As the elevator began to move, I knelt and quickly opened
my bag.  I looked up at the other woman.  "Don't ask why," I said in an
excited whisper, "but I've got to change before we get to the top floor."

   I could tell that she was enjoying looking at me.

   "You'll never make it." She grinned.

   I took a deep breath, stood, and unbuttoned my blouse, letting it drop
to the floor.  I reached behind me, unzipped my skirt, and wiggled out of
it while trying to keep my panties from slipping down too.  I was suddenly
conscious of how my breasts jiggled as I stepped out of the skirt.

   She reached past me and hit the button for 40th floor.  The elevator
stopped and the doors opened, I grabbed my blouse and held it in front of
me, but no one got on.

   "No," she whispered and hit the "Door Close" button.  "I'll hold the
elevator for you." I smiled as the doors closed and the elevator remained
motionless.

   "My name's Debbie." She pulled the red "Out of Service" button.  "I just
hate to see you rush."

   I could feel the red creep up my neck and face.

   "It's a bet," I said.

   "I'm sure," Debbie said as she crouched to look though my bag.  She
pulled out my clothes, piece by piece.  She held my second pair of panties
against her cheek.  "Black silk," she said.  "I'm impressed." For a moment,
before putting them down, she held them to her lips, closed her eyes, and
kissed them.

   Her dress rode up her thighs.  I looked down at the dark purple lacy
tops of her designer stockings and the purple straps of her garter belt.  I
felt myself tingle and ache for her.  It had been years since I had made
love to a woman, since college, and I fought hard to not reach up under her
dress and grope her like I was some adolescent in heat.

   "My name's Traci," I whispered.

   She nodded.  "You'll need help, Traci," she said, reaching up and
hooking her fingers in the elastic of my panties.

   "God!" I sighed.  I dropped my blouse and let her pull my panties down.
As I stepped out of them, I could smell the musty, rich, odor of my sex in
that tiny elevator.

   She grinned up at me.  "You're all wet," she said looking back at my
crotch.  "And such a beautiful bush."

   "Eat me," I heard myself sigh.

   One of her long, delicately fingered hands slipped behind me, pressed
into my buttocks and urged my hot nest into her smooth cheek.  The other
smoothed my hairs away from the slippery entrance.  I looked at her finely
manicured carmine fingernails on my mound as if I had never seen fingers
before.  She buried her face against my mound.  I felt her hot breath
burning me, and as she kissed me and moaned, her tongue began to explore
the cleft of my vulva through my tangled bush.  It pushed between the puffy
folds of skin and flicked against my clit.  I had been so close before, but
now, I felt my knees give out and I sank to the floor.  Debbie guided me
down, while her mouth never left my pussy.  I began to buck uncontrollably,
and she slipped two fingers deep in my hole.  Her touch was electric, as if
I were a virgin and this were my first time.

   I pulled my knees up against my chest and held them there, wantonly
displaying myself to her.  My heart swelled as part of me felt pride that I
could be here, like this, being loved by a beautiful woman almost half my
age.

   She slurped and licked and kissed my pussy, as she finger fucked me.  I
writhed under her mouth and came in seconds.

   After a moment or two, I reached down and ran my fingers through her
dirty-blond hair.  "Let me do you," I said.

   Debbie sat up, and while cupping my sex and slowly fingering me towards
another climax, she began to straighten out my clothes.  "You've got your
bet to win first." She removed her hand, leaving me humping air.  "Come
on."

   She helped me to my feet and began to dress me in my second outfit.  I
was dizzy and giddy.  And I so much wanted to have her.  "It can wait," I
protested as helped me on with my jacket.

   Debbie pushed in the "Out of Service" button and the elevator resumed
its climb.  When the doors opened, she stepped out, she aimed my camera at
me and took my picture.  "Looks like you've won."

   We had drinks and ordered dinner.  Debbie was a lawyer, and, remarkably,
she was thirty-seven.  I explained the entire bet to her, and said that it
had worked out better than I could ever have imagined.  I kept hinting that
we should go somewhere so I could return her favors, but she deflected my
suggestions as well as my attempts to touch her under the table.

   "I want to make love to you," I said finally.  "Let's get out of here."

   She smiled at me.  "You are so naughty." She stood up and whispered in
my ear, suggesting we go to the lady's room.

   I wasn't sure about this, but her smile was so warm and confident that I
happily followed.  We giggled and primped in front of the mirror while we
waited for a woman to leave.  "I've never--" I started to say I had no idea
what we really could do in a stall.  But Debbie took my hand and led me
into the large handicap stall on the end.  She locked the door and in one
motion grabbed my crotch and was French kissing me with the abandon and
strength of a man.  When she broke the kiss I swooned back from her,
breathless and in disarray.  I could feel my lipstick was smeared and my
eyes were half closed, tingling with her brutal kiss.  I wanted to feel my
breasts pressing hers again.  Her eyes gleamed.  She sat down suddenly on
the lid of the toilet and pulled me down over her lap.  I moved with her.

   "You are a naughty bitch," she said speculatively, as if floating the
idea.  She pulled up on my skirt and I reached around her shoulders.  Her
soft hands pressed and stroked my bottom, and I felt my mouth open with a
pleasant shock of surprise.

   My eyes closed as I gave in to her touch.  Her quick hands slid my
panties down, then she licked her index finger and slid it between my
cheeks, finding my tight asshole.  I squirmed on her lap as she wormed her
finger persuasively into my tight bottom-hole until it was deep in me.

   "Ooo . . .  yes," I moaned as she fingered me.

   Abruptly, she pulled her hand back and slapped me hard.  I jumped with
the searing pain, and the suddenness of her attack.  Tears welled, I
started up, but the small cubicle pressed in on us like spectators.  I
tried to speak, but swallowed with fear and panic.

   "Debbie?" I managed to say.

   "Shut up," she said.  Again and again she slapped me.  My eyes ran with
tears, and my ass stung more and more with each slap.

   When she stopped, she made me stand up and she slid my panties
completely down.  She stood up and wiped my face dry.  Then she crumpled my
panties into a ball and tucked them into my bag.  "Don't put them back on."

   "Debbie?" I whispered, unsure of where things were going.

   "Shhh . . .  be quiet, cunt." She pressed her finger back in me and I
snuffled half in pleasure, half in fear.  My bottom relaxed and
involuntarily nipped at her.  "You're so lucky you met me.  I can see . . .
you're a slut .  . .  a slave slut . . .  and now. . .  a cunt slave." She
jerked my hair in a fist and wiggled her finger in me.

   I gasped, and gazed up at her.

   I loved her.

   I couldn't believe how I felt, a mixture of lust and shame, and how I
wanted her.

   She withdrew her finger and pushed me to my feet.  She took a tissue and
wiped her finger.  I gazed at her and rocking back and forth, feeling my
bottom so empty, I knew I wanted her finger back in me.

   "Get dressed," she ordered and stepped out of the cubicle.

   Alone in that public toilet stall, I realized what an oily mess I was. I
wiped myself clean.  I smoothed my woolen dress, and patted my blouse and
jacket.

   Debbie was washing her hands when I stepped next to her.  She glanced at
me as I tried to straighten my hair.  She held her finger to my nose. 
"Smell."

   It still smelled musty, it had had my juices on it and it had been in my
bottom.  I blushed.

   Debbie smiled, a small smile that showed her teeth, twinkling.  She
moved close.  I felt her breath washing over my face.  I knew I wanted her.
"You smell of sex," she whispered.  "You're a slut."

   I washed, helplessly, as she dried her hands and left.  I followed, at
her mercy, and I hadn't even seen her naked.

   We paid the bill and waited for the elevator with a businessman.  When
the doors closed behind us Debbie pushed me against the wall opposite the
man.  She reached down and lifted my skirt.  "Show the man how you play
with yourself."

   I couldn't.  But the man did turn to look, and Debbie stepped out the
way.  "Go on," she whispered in my ear, "show him your twat.  Talk to him."

   Tears welled in my eyes as I knew I had to touch myself for him.  I
reached down and slid my fingers through the sticky damp hair of my pussy.

   "Look at my pussy," I whispered.  "See how hot I am."

   Debbie pulled my legs apart.  Then she squeezed my jaw.  "Don't look
away."

   I stared at the man, noticed that his pants bulged and he covered
himself as he watched me masturbate.  In spite of the tears and
embarrassment, I loved knowing I had made him hard.  I wanted him to take
out his tool, I wondered what it looked like, and felt like, and tasted
like. .  .

   "Watch me touch my cunt." My voice choked and cracked with humiliation.
"I'm really naughty . . .  a slut . . .  see me play with myself."

   The elevator slowed, and Debbie pulled my hand away, letting my dress
cover me again.  "I'm masturbating for you." I cried, as she pushed me
towards the door.  When it opened we walked out ahead of the man and into
the cool night air.

   It took a few minutes for me to calm down.

   "Debbie?" I said.

   "Honey," she kissed me on the cheek.  "You'll get me, promise.  But
first, I'm going to exhibit you like you can't imagine." She stuck her
tongue in my ear, then whispered, "and when you cum you'll cum like you
never have before."

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